


One Year.

by Moosen



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosen/pseuds/Moosen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been one year since the Civil War has ended and since the death of Captain America. Bucky Barnes still hasn't come to terms with the loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year.

God without the weight of his arm on his left shoulder, balancing him out, he sometimes feared that he was going to tip over. It was an odd sensation. Whenever he removed it. He doubted that he was ever going to get used it, not that it was the only thing that he was never going to get used to. His gaze strayed to the cellphone sitting on the table.

He should…he should call.

But did he want to?

Part of him did. Yes. Part of him _ached_ to call. But the other part of him? God it was _terrified._ Calling was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea.

Yet he still found himself reaching out and grabbing that stupid phone off the table. Operating it with one hand was no issue to him, he couldn’t really use his bionic one for smart phones without the glove anyway. The screen lit up and he tapped on the contacts, with the names staring at him his heart rate started to race.

You can do this.

You _can_ do this.

Slowly he began to scroll through names until he got to that _one._ Tapping it, he held back the grimace at the icon. God that damn smile was too bright for this world.

_I can’t do this._

Every instinct screamed at him to drop the phone, throw it away. Don’t make this phone call but he _had to._ Pressing the button, the phone dialed. A tremble started in his fingers as he raised the phone, pressing it against his ear. The ringing was disorienting, filling the room and making him want to vomit.

There wasn’t going to be an answer.

A click filled the air.

"You've reached Steve Rogers. I'm not here right now, but feel free to leave a message and your number-- I'll get back to you."

The ache that was in his heart spread out, enveloping in and _god did it hurt._ Every time he called he hoped that maybe, _god just maybe_ , there would be an answer.

“Hey.” His voice rasped as he spoke slowly. “It’s me. Obviously. Uh…”

He didn’t think this out.

“It’s just…it’s…”

He shouldn’t have called.

“It’s been a long time.”

“I just wanted to uhm.”

What did he want to do?

“It’s.”

“It’s been a year Steve. _A whole fucking year._ ” The crack in his voice was loud. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I just. _I don’t._ ” This was a terrible, _terrible_ idea. “I just. I needed to hear your voice. I…”

A shuddered breath escapes him.

“When are you coming back?” His words come as a whine as his world starts to blur. “You have to be. This trick isn’t for you. It’s just…it’s _not._ You’re too stubborn for it.”

He shouldn’t have removed his left hand. He could’ve used it to wipe his eyes, let himself see.

“Steve. I… I miss you.”

He needs to slow his breathing, god he knows he does but he can’t help the way that it picks up.

“Is this how you felt?”

God his chest felt tight _just so damn tight._ A choked breath escapes him.

“ _Please come back._ ”


End file.
